


Lord of Tricksters

by ModernAgeSomniari



Series: Headcanons [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25017295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernAgeSomniari/pseuds/ModernAgeSomniari
Summary: Solas has had many names.  He may also be more similar to a certain Inner Circle member than one might think.
Relationships: None
Series: Headcanons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811488
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Lord of Tricksters

The Trickster God started as just that.

When Solas began, for whatever reason, he had an affection for those of the lower classes. Perhaps he was an Evanuris’ bastard who started life being raised in the kitchens, perhaps he had a slave as a best friend growing up - however it happened, his eyes were opened to them being people. And they stayed open.

At first, it was just a game. He was clever and controversial - his academic research was often off-the-wall, unconventional and out of fashion. When he attended the great soirees and parlours, saw the arrogance and hypocrisy there, he just had to burst the bubble. As an elegant lady in ridiculous clothes swaggered through the crowds, a sudden oil slick would send her on her arse. A soiree host waxing lyrical on some tedious pontification on wisps would suddenly find his trousers unbuttoned and round his ankles. The sweet wine turned to vinegar, canapés to live frogs. They could never prove it was him, but it only ever seemed to happen when he was there. It became the latest scandalous fashion to invite the rather teasingly named Lord of Tricksters, just in case.

The only ones who knew it was him were the slaves there. The slyest of winks to the slave who had just been smacked for not immediately bringing the drinks tray over, their mistress coughing and spluttering as the drink she had just downed turned to curdled milk. The tiniest, conspiratorial nod of his head to the slave hiding their snigger as their master tripped on his undone shoelaces and fell face-first into the chocolate fountain.

Over time, he became known as a sympathetic ear and the slaves began to come to him for help. He got angrier and angrier, making real friends and watching them be abused and killed over nothing. The pranks became more deadly, less poking fun at the absurdities of his society than wanting to actively tear it down. Eventually, the rebellion began in earnest and war (however guerrilla) wasn’t far behind. There were no pranks anymore, just ambushes and assassinations, heists and sabotages. The glittering throng only used ‘Lord of Tricksters’ sneeringly now, trying desperately to belittle him. Another name was whispered in darker corners and this name held no derision, only fear. No amusement, only hope.

One thing led to another and another and then one day he finds himself with a pulsing, sickly green light above him and an orb in his hand. He spares a thought for those innocent days of earwigs in the teapots and realises he doesn’t have the tears to weep anymore. 

Then the sky splits and everything changes. The Trickster is the Dread Wolf truly now, no longer an amusing scandal for parties.

Basically, Solas and Sera have far more in common than either of them want to admit.


End file.
